Chile has become the fifth of South America's 13 countries to allow me passage into their territory, but it wasn't quite as plain sailing an experience as I've come to expect - but then again you rarely expect yourself to have to munch through a foot long ham salad sandwich in 90 seconds.
Rocking up at the Chilean border control after a wonderfully scenic ride from Bariloche, passing the Andean lakes and mountains that mark give this part of the world its "Lake District" name, we discovered that mere stamping of passports was only half the story at the Chilean border - these guys are judicious, it seems, when it comes to protecting their agriculture and thus X-ray all baggage entering the country, with anything food-related having to be declared. This included, it seemed, rather large ham sandwiches that had been long-term strategic purchases - bought in Bariloche specifically to appease my never-ending need for food across the 5 hours, change of buses in Osorno, and general hoopla of getting from A to B. The option of throwing the sandwich in the bin was not one that I was willing to even vaguely entertain, so I exited the bus faceplanted inside 12 inches of bread, ham and cheese - must to the amusement of the bus driver, and much to the disapproval of the Chilean customs official. The latter extended his disapproval be refusing to allow me to put any of my hand baggage on the belt until the sandwich was fully eaten - and with the rest of the bus already on the other side standing around waiting, all eyes were on me and my damn mouth. Thankfully, the bread was beautifully soft and the ham and cheese melted in the mouth, but even with this on my side, and aided by pats on the back from our bus driver who clearly appreciated by dilemma a great deal more than the stalwart customs official, it still took some outrageously large mouthfuls to chomp the whole thing down. Whether it was intended as a compliment I'm not sure (in fact, decidedly skeptical), but according to Anna "that last mouthful was the size of a meal".
Anyway, we found our way to Valdivia after a quickfire switch onto a local bus from Osorno - a switch that was almost scuppered by whacky time zones. In theory, Chile is an hour behind Argentina - so I put my clock an hour backward when we crossed the border. However, it turns out that because of last the earthquake from a few weeks back, the Chilean government have postponed the shift away from Daylight Saving Time, meaning that Chile remains 3 hours behind GMT instead of its proper 4. Almost disasterous for us, but all's well that ends well and we were safely lodged in Airesbuenos Hostel by early evening and headed out into the small town to find some grub to eat.
It was at this stage that we started to develop suspicions - suspicions that would only increase - about whether Valdivia was one giant April Fool's Day joke on us, being delivered an antisocial 3 weeks premature. Basically everywhere seemed closed - something we initially put down to being in a country with "normal" eating times (after weeks of outrageously late dinners in Brazil and Argentina) - but when we found ourselves wandering down roads that apparently didn't exist, and right past spots where our (admittedly poorly drawn) map suggested restaurants should have been (but patently were not), the whole situation began to rouse our suspicions.
Eventually we ended up in a nice little pub and I snagged my first taste of pisco - the local spirit brew that Peru and Chile both claim to have invented. Pisco sour, as I had it, is the most commonly drunk form - and went down very nicely with our classic dinner of bife de lomo (steak) and chips.
Over the last few months, I've stayed in a whole host of hostels of various quality - good, bad and ugly and most of the in between. Tucano House in Florianópolis is always gonna take some beating - its 95% approval rating on Hostelworld speaks for itself - but Airesbuenos here in Valdivia is something very special. After returning from dinner, the two of us somewhat sheepishly sat at the computer; while seemingly everyone else in the hostel was sitting around the table drinking wine and having a nice chat, we were trying to figure out what we were going to do the next day (a discounted night in a casino-spa swanky hotel was an option thanks to business contacts of my Dad). However, it wasn't a moment before the American lady who managed the place came over with a glass of wine for each of us and got talking about where we'd come from, where we were going - the usual jazz, for sure, but enough to make us comfortably join the circle of backpackers and hostel staff and sip Chilean wine well into the early hours. The scene was unlike anything else I've known in a hostel - around the table were 4 Frenchies who spoke Spanish, an Argentine with just Spanish, Anna with Spanish and English, and myself with French and English... but to top it off we were joined by the manager of the hostel (who could do all three) - a lovely Californian who, while a tad whacky, was friendly to her core and passionate about the Permaculture environmental recycling system she wanted to create at Airesbuenos. An interesting chat ensued about The result was the most incredible string of conversations that, depending on the protagonists at any given stage, seamlessly switched between all three languages. At some stage the topic turned to my Indian heritage, and my ability to cook (and how cooking was probably what I missed most travelling), and in a flash I was down to cook up some "tandoori-style" (read: standard Rodrigues nondescript concoction) chicken for lunch for everyone in the hostel!
Fast forward the best part of a day, and we're now all set to stroll down to the bus station for an evening bus to Santiago that should see us arriving there at about 9 tomorrow morning (the earthquake-induced collapse of a bridge causing a couple of hours delay to all buses). However, in the meantime we were impressively productive - after breakfast I marinaded some chicken with a random mix of whatever I could find in the kitchen, then it was off to explore Valdivia. A fairly embarrassing stop was made at the Casino-Spa-Hotel that saw me impressively crash and burn in an attempt to get free use of the casino (on the basis of knowing someone who knew someone who was important, or something to that effect), but that was soon forgotten as we strolled through the town's riverside market where an army of massive sea lions (like the critter below) sat around waiting for free bits of fish to munch on.
An attempt to find the Museo de Arte Contemporáneo saw us head over to the other side of the river after lunch (fresh local mussels fried in garlic sauce), the bridge providing a beautiful view of the town and the market that looks very much like the photo below. On the other side, however, we once again found ourselves wondering what was the deal with this town - how could nothing be where it was supposed to be?! Failing to find the museum at first attempt did bring the inadvertent reward of leading us to a cool, randomly abandoned 3-floor boat - anchored on the riverside at the end of a desolate little dead-end street with no hint of life in it (cool photos will eventually follow), but our sense of confusion with the town reached fever pitch when we found the museum - or indeed the place where all the signs pointed to - and it still wasn't there!
Half an hour of confused and aimless wandering, and eventually someone informed us of a tiny little staircase that lead to the underground gallery which, alongside some fairly cool modern art, had an awesome photographic display by a guy who's name I've now forgotten... but rest assured it was impressive. But by this stage we were fairly zonked from walking and having our minds screwed with, so headed back to Airesbuenos and kicked back with all the residents and staff in front of a fairly decent film.
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